Lifeline
by Carinthe
Summary: Ford didn't understand the major's decision to put an inexperienced, out of shape, egocentric scientist on his team. But he will learn the hard way when his life is literally put into McKay's hands...
1. Chapter 1

_AN: _

_The first draft of this story is finished (some 8000 words), so you can expect regular updates (with reasonable certainty). I'm so sorry for all the grammatical and other errors! When I read it, it sounds like perfectly fine English to me, but I'm sure there must be horrible crimes against the English language in my stories. _

_Mea culpa. Will fix if told..._

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**-**

**_Lifeline_**

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**- 1 -**

"Pull it! Damn it, McKay, put some effort into it, you lazy son of a bitch!"

Aiden Ford wasn't a happy camper.

He had all reasons not to be. He was wet, cold and aching all over. High drops into frigid rivers tended to make your mood plummet faster than bird shit.

Hence, Aiden felt perfectly entitled to be cranky, the absence of Major Sheppard and the very real possibility of impending death prompting him to swear violently in a way that he would never even consider under normal circumstances.

Feeling slightly guilty, he figured most of the cussing wouldn't reach the shore anyway, drowned out by the roaring of an uncomfortably close waterfall. So, if it helped keeping him from freaking out, yelling at a fumbling McKay sounded like a pretty good idea right now. After all, the scientist was safe, and dry, on the river's bank, while he, Aiden, was paddling furiously in the turbulent stream, clinging to a rope for dear life, and to an unconscious Teyla for _her_ dear life.

McKay shouted back, obviously peeved: "I'm working on it! Just hang on!"

"That's the only thing I can do, you genius! I can't just swim against this current, never mind while dragging Teyla along…" Aiden wanted to yell out across the Pegasus galaxy, but settled for saving his breath to keep afloat. But his thoughts on their geeky team member were none too kind. What had ever possessed Major Sheppard to ask a scientist on his elite team? In Aiden's opinion, scientists in general were physically and emotionally too inexperienced to be put on a field team. They were vital to the expedition, but made the greatest contribution when tucked away safely in some lab, working miracles with incomprehensible alien technology. They were the brains of the operation, and the military was the scull and body: protection and field work.

Very few scientists were notable exceptions to that rule. Major Carter came to mind first. Lovely but lethal. Smarter than McKay, and with considerably more hands-on experience. Then again, she was military, and trained extensively in combat. Aiden had always had the impression she was an officer first, and a scientist second.

No, then Doctor Jackson might be a better example. The man was a living legend at the SGC. Living proof that geeky scientists _could_ successfully survive years and years of gate travelling on a first line team. Or, well, survive, die and return. But he was an easy-going fellow, adapting quickly to the harshness of off-world missions, bouncing back so many times it had taken on epic proportions. He was young and flexible, had honed his physical skills to the point he could rival with many marines, and his talent to charm even the most murderous natives had defused many an explosive situation.

Quite the contrast with the arrogant, self-professed know-it-all McKay, who had become rusted in his old age, was liable to get a heart-attack after running 100 feet and generally _caused_ the explosive situations by pissing of perfectly friendly natives…

It was only by sheer dumb luck that, this time, the scientist hadn't been the one to anger the primitive tribe they had approached as possible trading partners.

Uncharacteristically, that role had been played by their charismatic team leader, who had smiled at one of the towns' fairest maidens with a tad too much charisma. Her fiancé had turned out to be quite the suspicious and resentful type, and on top of that the only, spoiled rotten, son of the town's resident Lord.

They sure took avenging honour seriously on this planet.

Not that a sword could do much against their automatic guns, but 100 swords backed up by some 20 crossbows sure as hell could.

So, Sheppard had gracefully accepted to duel.

Aiden had, just as gracefully, sprung his unfortunate leader from the dungeon they had tossed him in overnight. With, admittedly, a little help from McKay in the lock-picking department.

Things had turned decidedly less graceful when several villagers had spotted them sneaking out of town. Just Sheppard's luck to get nicked by an arrow, before Teyla had managed to shoot the son of a bitch. At the forest's edge, by Sheppard's order, they had split up, with Aiden and Teyla distracting their pursuers while Sheppard and McKay had taken a more direct route to the gate. And at the ravine, things had plummeted fast, literally…


	2. Chapter 2

**- 2 -**

Rodney was still desperately trying to catch his breath, doing his best to ignore the painful stitches in his side, when Ford and Teyla came barrelling out of the woods. Unfortunately for them, they had miscalculated their exit point by several hundred metres, ending up at a steeper part of the river's bench upstream of the place where they had crossed the turbulent waters by rope before. Like the bad luck that seemed to follow them at the heels on this mission, a small but fervent band of villagers was chasing his team mates.

And then, it happened.

Whether it was due to fatigue, lack of light or getting hit by an arrow, Teyla's foot slipped on a rock, causing her to tumble against an unsuspecting Ford.

With a soundless gasp of terror, Rodney watched them loose balance and fall off the cliff into the raging river below. He got spurred into motion again when he spotted Ford's head bobbing up not far from the place where he was standing.

Yelling with all his considerable might, he demanded the young lieutenant's shattered attention: "Lieutenant! Ford! Grab the rope! The rope!"

He gesticulated wildly, as if by grabbing air he could somehow influence Ford's response.

But the words, shouted clearly in a commanding tone, snapped the soldier out of his dazedness and the lieutenant dutifully reached for the rope suspended several feet above the river.

Rodney sighed again, this time of relief, when Ford managed to get -and keep - a firm hold of it. Only then did he notice the mess of auburn curls pressed against the lieutenant's chest, and a genuine smile lit up his face.

So, Teyla was safe too, huh.

But bad luck needed to have another say over the situation, and decided that friction ought not to have been working fruitlessly for far too long.

The rope snapped on its far end.

Panic seized Rodney firmly, gripping him so tight in her clutches that he was unable to move a muscle.

The first jolt of suddenly being pulled along by the rabid waters once again, must have surprised Ford, as well as the second tug when the robe became taut again, now solely tied around a sturdy oak-like tree on Rodney's side of the river. Whether is was due to rigorous military training, survivor's instinct or just plain old luck, Ford did manage to hold on to the rope, and -equally important- to the unconscious Teyla.

Rodney took a second to stare in complete awe, before his genius brain kicked back into gear and he dashed quickly to the rope. The idea of getting gloves from his pack was no more than a fleeting thought, rejected almost instantly as it would be a loss of precious time. Instead, Rodney pulled his vest sleeves over his hands, found a nice big rock for leverage and grabbed the rope.

In a final sadistic salute, the Bad Luck Curse left with a bang, choosing that exact moment to allow friction to severe the remaining end of the rope as well.

Rodney did decidedly less well than Lieutenant Ford when faced with sudden jolts, something he was acutely reminded of as the rope slipped between his cloth encoated hands.

And kept slipping.

Just in time, the impulses from his brain reached his arm muscles and they tightened.

And nearly let go again as a white-hot pain sliced through his hands, so intense that tears sprung unbidden to his eyes. While trying to get a firm grip, his hands had reached out of the protecting sleeves and were currently being burned by the slipping robe.

_Still_ slipping!

Damn it!

Rodney cursed his weakness, clenched his left fist shut with all his might to briefly stop the rope, bit through the intensified pain, and quickly looped the frighteningly short dangling end of cord several times around his right arm. With a sob, he gently opened his mangled left hand, thereby transferring all pressure to the right side. The rope still bit in his right wrist and hand, but at least its friction was now partly held at bay by the sturdy material of his vest's sleeve as well.

Mustering all his courage, ignoring old and new aches, he grit his teeth and slowly started pulling the rope in, one excruciatingly painful tug at a time.

Rodney had barely pulled in 10 inches when a low growl by his left foot startled him.

He looked down to see a blurry grey fleck. Blinking furiously he managed to finally focus his watery eyes.

And locked gaze with a pair of predatory yellow irisses.

Uh oh.

Return of the Bad Luck Curse. With a vengeance.

He barely had the time to classify the small furry grey-with-white animal as a probable alien cousin of earth's wild cats, before sharp teeth sank into his left calf.

He yelped, more surprised than hurt.

The teeth hadn't sunken very deep, but the owner had an annoying tenacity to cling, and gnaw some more in the process.

His day officially sucked, and for the briefest moment he felt very much like drawing his gun and blasting the little critter into kingdom come.

Immediately, his brain provided him 3 good reasons for forgoing that undoubtedly particularly satisfying course of action. One, it would only help their pursuers pinpoint their exact location. Two, his hurting hands were trembling so hard he doubted he could keep a grip on the gun, never mind aiming precisely enough not to shoot his own foot. And three, most importantly, he couldn't hold the rope with just one hand.

Which brought him to a more urgent problem. His arm muscles were starting to tire rapidly, and if he ever wanted to haul Ford and Teyla in, he had to proceed quickly. He prayed Ford's arm muscles were stronger than his, but could easily imagine the raging pull of the water wasn't exactly making things easier for the lieutenant.

You're stalling again, McKay, wasting time your team mates do not have! He berated himself severely.

He shook his left leg lightly, then somewhat more forcibly, but the alien cat was a sticker. The thing had deepened its bite in response to the movement, and it started to hurt more than it surprised him now.

Annoyed, he gave it a more powerful shake, which did not dislodge the cat but forced Rodney to slightly shift his right foot to compensate.

Slippery rocks and overbalancing astrophysicists in one equation however are like an electron and a positron: when you dare to mix them, you get instant annihilation, resulting in the release of two energy particles in directions diametrically opposite to each other. For the rocks, said energy was used for flying in the direction of the forest. Which meant that Rodney went flying the other, wetter and infinitely more muddy way.

Unfortunately, a bigger brother of the still happily airborn rocks was in Rodney's downward path.

Luckily however, Rodney's skull was of a quality to match its precious content.

Still, the harsh impact between two unyielding objects wasn't pretty.

The world greyed out, darkness stretching out greedy fingers to pull him into full unconsciousness.

He didn't see stars. Not exactly.

He smiled vaguely at the thought that it took an astrophysicist to prove that you couldn't actually see stars when being knocked out, but then the pain returned full force, overpowering all other thoughts.

All except one.

Ford and Teyla were still hanging on, he felt their desperate battle with the river with every agonizing tug of the rope he was still, miraculously, clinging on to.

His team mates depended on him.

Laboriously, he pushed himself upright into a sitting position against the rock he'd fallen against.

The world kept spinning madly for the longest time. He felt weaker than a newborn foal and probably swayed like a blade of grass in a hurricane, but he pulled up every inch of stubbornness he had - and that was quite an impressive amount - and poured it into stabilizing himself so he could resume pulling the rope in.

The added pain in his hands nearly proved too much and he tethered precariously at the brink of unconsciousness.

"Pull it! Damn it, McKay, put some effort into it, you lazy son of a bitch!"

Ford's words, ringing out clearly over the river's raging, fuelled something deep inside.

It was not courage, or even stubbornness anymore. It was a far stronger emotion, far more repressed and more adrenaline-providing.

Fear.

The fear of being responsible for another two deaths.

Masking fear with annoyance was one of his specialties, and he retorted acidly. "I'm working on it! Just hang on!"

And Rodney pulled, not noticing the alien cat was nowhere in sight, no longer feeling the skin peel off his hands, never aware of the rope slowly staining red...


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: Wow, thank you so much for all your lovely reviews! Just a few words in reply, feel free to skip to the story._

_What happened to our dearest (injured) Sheppard? Good question, but you won't find out in this chapter just yet..._

_Referring to __cybersyd42__'s remark about an SG-1 story featuring Daniel pulling up his team mates while being mangled by a rope: no, I haven't read it, but I would really love to! Is anyone out there (who_ has _read it) willing to mail me (a link to) the story, pretty pretty please? As a reward, you can borrow my imaginary (thoroughly whumped but extremely well cared for) Rodney for a week. Thanks!_

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**-3-**

The rope was cutting into Aiden's hand, grating painfully. His muscles were burning. and he was sure his arms were trembling, although with the tumultuous ever-changing water currents he was jostled too much to actually see it.

It had taken the longest time –what the hell was McKay doing there, catching a tan? – but finally he saw the river's bench approaching. Painstakingly slow, but definitely steadily coming nearer.

He really ought to tell Major Sheppard to add more physical training to McKay's schedule. The man was such a cliché of the out-of-shape geek. He wouldn't be surprised if the haughty astrophysicist had landed his but in the mud while stumbling across the slippery river's bench.

Speaking of the bench.

His water treading feet hit something hard and firm, and with a sigh of relief he realised he had reached terra firma again. Still, the water currents were traitorous and he kept a firm hold on the rope until he was less than waist-high in the water. After quickly wading the last few paces out of the water, he first focussed on gently laying Teyla down and checking her breathing again. To his tremendous relief, it was still there, sounding unhealthily raspy, but there nevertheless.

Probably still water inside her lungs.

Aiden turned her face to one side, knelt astride her hips, put his hands on top of each other just below her rib cage and pressed them into her abdomen with a quick upward thrust. Water flew from Teyla's mouth, she coughed wetly and proceeded to throw up half the river.

Aiden helpfully rolled her to her side, and patted her back reassuringly through the ordeal. Teyla's brown eyes opened briefly, looking entirely too unfocussed to Aiden's liking, before fluttering closed again.

"Teyla?" He ventured worriedly, shaking her gently, but she was once again completely unresponsive.

"She's been shot by one of the natives' arrows.." A voice behind him caused him to jump ever so slightly.

Aiden whirled around, took in the bedraggled form of Rodney McKay, and started to laugh.

The scientist was covered in reddish brown mud from head to toe, looking as though he didn't have a dry spot left anywhere.

His face, hands and clothes were all dripping mud, and Ford found it hilarious. When he had briefly entertained the idea of McKay slipping before, he could never have imagined the Canadian to be so –well- thorough. Well, he had to give it to McKay: when the man went for it, he sure went the whole way.

When McKay didn't start bitching, but instead dropped next to Teyla, frowned and clumsily pulled her jacket of her right shoulder, Aiden quickly stopped giggling at the site of blood.

The Canadian had spotted what he, Aiden, had missed before: the small gash in her jacket concealing where an arrow had glanced her. The wound itself didn't look too serious though…

McKay fumbled with one of his vest's pockets, and finally managed to free a small med pack which he tossed over to Aiden.

"The arrows are poisoned, but apparently nothing too serious, just tranquilizers." The scientist said softly.

Aiden nodded absentmindedly, not even bothering to ask how McKay knew that titbit, while he quickly bandaged Teyla's shoulder.

A loud yowling made both men look up.

"Of course, it had to be mommy's girl…" McKay's muttered comment sounded slightly exasperated, and made absolutely no sense to Aiden whatsoever.

The only thing the young lieutenant knew, was that there stood a tiger-sized grey-with-white striped feline glaring murderously at them. An alien wolf-tiger. With a tiny exemplar of the same species jauntily prancing beside it.

"Shit…" He pulled out his gun, but was stopped in his tracks by McKay hissing: "No! If they live in a pack, more might attack the moment you kill this one…"

Aiden glanced at his muddy team mate, who was clumsily grabbing his P90.

Before he could comment, McKay looked at him intensely. "You will have to carry Teyla to the gate. I'll be alongside to cover you."

The steely determination in the blue eyes smothered Aiden's protests. After all, the suggestion did make sense. Aiden was the fittest and could run the fastest. Even bearing Teyla's weight, he'd still be running about as fast as McKay without any burden.

And, he had to admit reluctantly, the physicist wasn't such a bad shot at all.

At least, he wasn't on the Atlantis shooting range…

With a brief prayer, Aiden hoisted Teyla up in a fireman's carry, and started running into the forest.

McKay kept right by his side, suddenly falling back briefly to shoot twice, before catching up again.

"Is it dead?" Aiden asked.

McKay didn't answer straight away.

"Well?" Aiden prompted.

"Not really…" McKay admitted reluctantly, meanwhile panting slightly and throwing a furtive glance over his shoulder.

The sudden shaky intake of breath following that glance didn't promise much good.

"What?" Aiden snapped, by now thoroughly sick of this particular day.

"There… are… more…." McKay said in between quick shallow breaths.

"Well, make sure they are _really _dead this time!" Aiden grouched as he shifted Teyla's suddenly heavy body into a marginally more comfortabl position.

Again, McKay fell back, but this time Aiden counted 10 gun shots, and it took a lot longer for the scientist to catch up again.

"Clin…gy…" McKay panted, sounding strangely amused, apparently more to himself then to Aiden, who was starting to think the man was getting hysteric.

Thankfully, the density of trees was quickly dwindling and soon they were running over the meadow in front of the stargate.

McKay turned around again, and fired 4 more shots, while Aiden speed-dialled Atlantis, and sent his IDC. When he looked behind him, he gasped at the sight of some 10 more wolf-tigers approaching rapidly. He also noticed 3 dead ones, one lying so close to McKay its nose nearly touched the doctor's boots.

Then, the scientist pushed him through the event horizon, and the world became a mass of blur and colour.

Arriving on the other side of the gate, he heard McKay's panted whisper: 'Shield', and repeated the command louder. The tell-tale sound of the gate's shield engaging told him they were safe at last, and Aiden finally allowed the full weight of tiredness to fall over him.

His knees gave in.

Helpful hands caught him and took over his precious burden. Amongst the sudden flurry, he spotted doctor Beckett running over and quickly informed the physician: "Teyla was shot by an alien arrow, she nearly drowned and hasn't been conscious since…"

The Scottish physician nodded and gave the unmoving Athosian his undivided attention. "And you, are you okay?" He asked semi-casually, his eyes never leaving Teyla.

"Yeah, just sore, and tired." Aiden grinned weakly.

"Okay, then, you'd best be getting to the infirmary too, so Mae can check you out." Beckett moved back for a second while Teyla was loaded on a gurney, glancing first at Aiden, then at McKay.

"Rodney?" The physician asked softly, giving the quietly staring scientist, who was standing alone to the side trying to catch his breath, a piercing look.

His staff was already leaving with Teyla, and Aiden sighed, hoping McKay wouldn't start complaining about a splinter while Teyla was in more urgent need of the doctor's help.

McKay blinked owlishly several times, before the glassy look in his eyes disappeared, and panted heavily: "I'm …fine, … Carson, …you should …get to …Teyla"

The Canadian took several deep breaths, then tried again "I expect it's the …. same poison as the one on … Sheppard's dart, … but she was in the water ….immediately after being shot, …. and the arrow … was mostly …stopped by her … jacket…" He started making a wide gesture with his left hand, grimaced and quickly let the hand fall down limply again.

Beckett frowned deeply.


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: For those of you interested in_ _the 'Daniel version' of rope-induced whumping, aka "Hanging by a Thread" by Jb, please see the link in my profile, kindly provided by Cybersyd42!_

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**-4-**

It was an undefined feeling of impending doom that had lured Carson to the gate room the first time.

He dearly regretted being proven correct when the bloody wormhole had spit out a panicked Rodney dragging an unconscious major Sheppard along.

Elizabeth ought to forbid that team from ever stepping through the ruddy gate again. He felt like his staff was devoting an alarming amount of their precious time to putting one or another team member together, only for their hard work to be proven for naught as said team member landed him- or herself in his infirmary yet again.

Of course, Rodney McKay alone could keep whichever unfortunate medic he spotted first busy for hours on end, either by boring them with an ever-growing number of ailments or by bugging them about formalizing medical protocols in case of the most unlikely emergencies.

Carson was extremely glad Rodney had pressed them to work out a detailed emergency protocol for 'poisoning by alien sharp object'.

When the out-of-breath scientist had tumbled through the gate, he had needed to speak only those five words to galvanise a medical team into action. Carson had quickly removed the arrow from major Sheppard's shoulder and a sample of its poison had immediately been run through a series of tests predefined by the emergency protocol, leaving Carson free to stabilize the major's condition and to mend the damage to his shoulder.

In fact, they had Rodney's tenacity to thank for the fact that some of the most abundant substances recently discovered in the Pegasus galaxy had been characterized and added to the test battery.

And his hypochondria.

It had saved Major Sheppard's life.

The poison on the arrow had been found to be closely related to a plant juice that Rodney had accidentally gotten on his hand during a fall off-world. It had left him with a barely visible rash, a violent itch and several innocent bouts of incessant sneezing. Rodney had complained and whined so long that Carson had finally given in and had ordered someone to characterize the substance.

After the connection to the plant substance had been established, it was a fairly sure guess to assume that the critical element in the arrow's toxin against which to develop an antidote was the same as the active component they had already identified in the plant's much weaker toxin.

The speedy availability of an antidote had been critical to the major's survival.

And Carson had been jubilant when personally delivering the good news to Elizabeth in the control room.

Although clearly pleased, the worry had never really left her eyes, and Carson's earlier feeling of dread had resurfaced with a vengeance.

The other team members were still missing.

Elizabeth had told him that Rodney had quickly briefed her in his speed-lecturing mode - a strange story about medieval duels and irate fiancés - before asking permission to return. She had agreed somewhat reluctantly, sending another team along for backup.

Although he could be of more use in the infirmary, something had compelled Carson to stay.

And wait.

Then, things spiralled out of control, fast.

First, the backup team returned, sans Rodney.

Apparently, they had run into a group of angry natives and had engaged a fight. Rodney had suggested they just run away, but Captain Makepeace had thought it better to eliminate the enemy first. But more villagers had come, and the desperate soldiers had no longer aimed to disable only. In the heat of the fight, they had become separated briefly and found out only later that Rodney had lost his head-set in the scuffle.

Unable to hail the wayward scientist, and not knowing where he had been planning to go (and hence, where Ford and Teyla might be), they had fruitlessly searched the woods for his tracks during 20 minutes. But the forested planet held a very rich animal life, which created numerous tracks as well and rendered the life signs detector pretty useless.

Captain Makepeace had not been able to think up any other course of action but to return to Atlantis to report in and await further orders.

As Carson was contemplating his dislike for the man, the feeling of impending doom kept growing steadily.

Elizabeth was on the verge of ordering to dial the gate in order to send through 2 teams to perform a search and rescue mission when the wormhole engaged for the third time.

Disgorging first Lieutenant Ford, carrying a limp Teyla, followed immediately by an incredibly muddy Rodney McKay.

Carson skipped down the stairs, and the helpful people in the gate room who had gently eased Teyla down quickly made room to give him a clear path to the unconscious woman. As he kneeled next to the Athosian, Lieutenant Ford's somewhat breathless voice sounded: "Teyla was shot by an alien arrow. She nearly drowned and hasn't been really conscious since…"

Carson nodded, glancing a sneak peak at the collapsed Lieutenant from the corner of his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just sore, and tired." The weak grin that accompanied the young soldier's answer didn't fool Carson for one moment. He had experience in handling self-depreciating military types. So had his best nurse, who thankfully was on duty today.

"Okay, then, you'd best be getting to the infirmary too, so Mae can check you out."

Satisfied that Teyla was reasonably stable for now, Carson allowed his staff to whisk her away to the infirmary, intent on following, but stopped by a sudden feeling of wrongfulness.

His gaze passed over Aiden and fell on Rodney.

An unusually quiet Rodney.

"Rodney?" Carson softly called for his friend's attention, not liking the dazed faraway look in the scientist's eyes.

Rodney appeared to have some difficulty focussing on him, and the abnormal wheezing in his breath caused Carson's concern to go up another notch. "I'm …fine, … Carson, …you should …get to …Teyla"

Rodney was very good at concealing his emotions, but Carson knew the man well enough to notice his concern for Teyla. The way in which he prattled along, ignoring the fact he was depriving himself from much-needed oxygen, emphasized that.

"I expect it's the …. same poison as the one on … Sheppard's dart, … but she was in the water ….immediately after being shot, …. and the arrow … was mostly …stopped by her … jacket…" In his excitement, Rodney automatically started his habitual gesturing.

The way he stopped abruptly, dropping his left hand limply, brought a frown to Carson's brow.

Carson's danger sense was tingling in overdrive.

If Rodney was bitching and moaning, his hypochondria promised hell for Carson. But it was when he said he was fine, that Carson really started to worry. And he hadn't missed the concealed wince when Rodney had moved his arm.

His experienced eyes quickly trailed over Rodney. Reddish brown mud was liberally coating the Canadian, from head to toe, and even smeared across the automatic gun that was dangling in front of his chest, steadily dripping down from his finger tips.

Wait just a wee second.

That wasn't only mud dripping down, forming a dark red puddle on the gate room floor…

Carson was at his friend's side in a second, and gently pulled his right arm up, eliciting another slight wince from Rodney. Up close, he noticed the sleeve's fabric was torn and as his eyes slid further down he saw the blood.

Uncomfortably much of it.

Pooling from underneath the sleeve.

Welling up from a horribly mangled hand.

Dread seized Carson as he grabbed Rodney's other arm, and he was horrified to see his other hand was injured at least as badly.

"Oh, dear Rodney, what did you do to yourself…" He sighed, capturing his friend's dazed look. "Let's get you to the infirmary as well…"

"Sorry…" Rodney murmured softly, and obediently took a few steps when prompted by Carson's gentle pull. Then he stopped suddenly, and blinked twice before his eyes rolled up and his body became slack.

Carson could catch him just in time to save the unconscious man from hitting his head against the hard unforgiving floor tiles.

"Get me a stretcher!" He ordered, as he gently eased his burden down. When retrieving his hand from its supportive position at the back of Rodney's head, he found it wet and tinged a bright red.

He looked up into the horrified eyes of Lieutenant Ford.

"Get that bloody stretcher in here, NOW!"


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews (--hands out real Belgian chocolates--)! Your kind words have even sparked an idea for a 7th (unplanned and as of yet unwritten) chapter! __I'm so sorry but I'm afraid I won't be able to post another chapter until monday evening (or maybe sunday). Please, don't shoot until I have activated my personal shield (nicked it from Rodney,_ _who's __unconscious through it all, the poor lad)..._

_Enough with the ranting, let's get back to whumping Aiden & co._

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**-5-**

Aiden felt numb.

It might, in part, have something to do with the cocktail nurse Mae had involuntarily put him on. His brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton wool, his thoughts fuzzy clouds in an ever changing sky.

He hadn't quite passed out in the gate room, or -god forbid- fainted, but he had felt rather like a spectator, or a puppet of which someone else was pulling the strings, when his feet had walked him to the infirmary guided only by a gentle touch on his shoulder.

His eyes had searched the floor relentlessly, and his heart had constricted painfully every time they had found a bright red droplet on pristine tiles.

Blood.

Slowly dripping blood.

Slowly growing guilt.

But try as he might, he couldn't clear his head sufficiently to analyse the feeling any further.

And now, installed comfortably in one of the infirmary's beds, the numbness was slowly becoming overwhelming. He felt the pull of sleep tugging ever more persistent, weighing down his eyelids. But the weight on his heart prevented him from nodding off.

He had to know if they were all safe first.

Slowly, he turned his head to the left. In the bed next to him, Major Sheppard was tossing fretfully, trapped in feverish nightmares, his dark hair so sweaty it actually laid nearly flat. He was mumbling something repeatedly, like a mantra, and finally Aiden understood the words: "Get it off, get it off, …."

Aiden's mind unbidden showed him the frightening image of the giant bug burrowed solidly in the Major's neck.

He shivered, suddenly cold to the bone.

"Are you all right, son?"

Aiden startled when doctor Beckett suddenly appeared by his side. The Scot's eyes, clouded by a storm of worry darkening the blue, were not quite meeting his.

"Yeah. How are they?" Aiden cut straight to the point, feeling keenly he wouldn't be able to fight off sleep for much longer.

Beckett still didn't meet his gaze, but stared at Sheppard's tossing form in the next bed.

"Oh, they're a right mess, once again. We're lucky we got a candidate antidote so soon. But even then…"

The physician started fussing over Aiden, adjusting IVs, taking his pulse and reading the monitor's display on auto pilot. Slumped shoulders betraying his fear. "There was no time for testing the antidote properly. Theoretically, yes, it ought to neutralise the toxins, but we did nae have the time to test it on mice. And even if it works, we still ought to be wary of side effects…" Beckett sighed and wearily rubbed a hand over his eyes.

Aiden was painfully reminded of another time when one of the doctor's drugs had inadvertently caused horrible side effects.

In the nearby bed Sheppard moaned again.

They all had their demons to fight, Aiden thought idly as exhaustion claimed him at last. His last conscious thought featured bright drops of red, flowing together to form a river which took him to a land of fleeting feverish impressions.

When he woke up, he didn't feel refreshed at all. Muscle aches and contussions that had previously been masked by lingering adrenaline and nurse Mae's cocktail caused him just enough discomfort not to fall asleep again, and slowly, his mind cleared.

He felt hot.

Entirely too hot to be comfortable.

And the thick blanket seemed intent on suffocating him.

He tried to push the weight off his chest, but his arms felt incredibly heavy and refused to obey his commands.

He grit his teeth in utter frustration.

A soft brogue nearby claimed his attention. The answering voice was weak and sounded rough, but Aiden immediately recognized it as Sheppard's.

Not willing to disturb them, Aiden kept his eyes closed, fully intent on ignoring his aching body and going back to sleep for a while. Just until he felt less like a zombie.

Then, one word was said that took his every chance at nodding off.

"McKay?"

Sheppard's scratchy voice was merely a whisper, but it held such amount of concern that it physically struck Aiden.

Apparently, it had a similar effect on Beckett, who hastened to sooth his agitated patient. "You can rest easy now, major. Rodney's done a doozy on himself again, all right. But, given some time, we'll be putting him right back on his feet again, no worries there."

"His hands?" Sheppard seemed as of yet unconvinced, still sounding extremely confused and worried.

"Ach, I was hoping we could postpone the detailed debriefing until such as time as when you had recovered some of your strength…"

But worry could be an amazing source of strength. Not unlike Aiden's 95 year old great-grandmother staying up, until early morning if she had too, unable to rest despite fatigue, waiting for her teenage great-grandson to safely return from one of his wild outings.

"But I can see you would nae sleep a wink without a heavy drug-induced nudge." Beckett sighed and gave in. "His hands and wrists presented what I believe is a severe case of rope burn. There was quite some dirt in the open wounds, and I had to do some stitching, but I'm confident Rodney'll regain full use of his hands in some weeks."

Aiden suddenly found it hard to breath.

Rope burn.

From desperately clinging to the rope that could save Aiden and Teyla.

That _did_ save them.

If McKay hadn't been there, Aiden would never have had the wherewithal to grab the rope in the first place. And if they'd gone over the waterfall's edge…

Aiden shuddered.

The roaring had sounded very impressive.

Very deadly…

It had scared him into ranting madly at McKay, never pausing for even a second to think exactly _how_ the scientist had to get them to the safe shore.

Leaving the logistics to McKay, expecting their resident genius to pull off yet another miraculous rescue…

Literally pull them into safety…

Sheppard's voice cut into his jumbled thoughts. "What happened to this head?"

And Aiden remembered.

Remembered the blood-stained hand doctor Beckett had withdrawn from under McKay's head.

Remembered the initial confusion he had felt turning into horror as he realised he didn't have the faintest clue what kind of injuries McKay had kept hidden.

Remembered the new-found respect he had gotten for the man.

"Ah, well, major, I'm not so sure what happened exactly. I could only get the weirdest story out of Rodney, who was -mind you- only half-conscious and doped up with enough medication to sedate an elephant then." Beckett's mirth sounded through clearly in his voice. "Apparently, a wee kitten bit his calf, and in an attempt to kick it off, Rodney slipped. He must have hit his head on a rock or so, because he kept repeating something odd about _not_ seeing any stars and needing to write a paper about it…"

And that's probably when McKay had landed himself into the mud as well.

One of the muddy patches on the river's shore.

And although Aiden had previously briefly entertained the thought of McKay clumsily stumbling across the slippery stuff, he now realized the scientist wasn't actually such a klutz as the stereotype geek Aiden had confused him with. For one, after McKay had once nearly bitten Major Sheppard's head off when the latter had made a derogatory comment about ice hockey, the Canadian had let it slip he had played in his high school hockey team.

Stability on slippery surfaces and good balance were pretty much a requisite for that…

If McKay had indeed slipped, you'd expect him to have enough experience to brace himself somewhat. At the very least protect his head…

Unless something had prevented him from doing so. Something more important than breaking his fall. Like gripping a rope so tightly it had cut his hands up until they bled…

And Aiden knew with near-certainty that this must have been what had happened, could clearly imagine the injured man standing all alone on that muddy bank struggling to save his friends, trying to ignore the pain and the foul language tossed at him.

Aiden fervently prayed that the ground would just open up and swallow him whole.

He would even prefer one of nurse Mae's more intimate examinations over this.

His heart seemed to be squeezed painfully, feeling not unlike it was stuck inside a vice that was slowly but surely tightening.

Breathing suddenly became increasingly difficult. He felt like he was drowning again, in a turbulent river of bright accusing red, endlessly struggling to keep his head up, swimming desperately against an inescapable pull, before finally going over the waterfall's edge…

But before he could fall into the abyss beyond, a familiar voice called his name, caught him gently and pulled him back to the shore.


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: About Rodney on the hockey team: I don't see him choose it out of his own free will, but I_ can _imagine McKay senior forcing his son to give up playing the piano (evilly bribing his teacher into telling the poor lad he won't ever be great) in order to practice a more 'manly' hobby. I do think that once Rodney got in the team, he went all the way (injuries, here we come), thanks to his innate desire to be the best in all he does... _

_Anyone bitten by the plot bunny yet?_

* * *

**-6-**

John sat up boldly the moment Ford started to seize. Horrified, he stared as the tremors turned into convulsions, which had the usually sweet-tempered Beckett curse like a sailor.

A bad, bad sign.

Likewise was half the infirmary staff swooping down around Ford's bed like vultures to a prey.

'Okay, bad, bad picture there, John', he chastised himself.

"No!"

John turned his head in the direction of the muffled outcry so fast he thought he might have given himself a whiplash.

In a nearby bed, McKay was tossing fitfully, moaning quietly in his feverish dreams.

"Ford!" The scientist cried, his tone panicked, his hands briefly stretching out, wildly grabbing at something, before falling down limply again.

This was a bad, bad day.

Beckett and his staff were a little too preoccupied to attend to the agitated physicist right then, but John didn't like the way McKay kept agitatedly rolling his head from side to side. When he noticed a faint pink spot appearing on the bandage at McKay's temple, he decided to take matters into his own hands, Beckett's orders be screwed.

Carefully, he slid out of his own bed and winced, both because of the coldness of the infirmary floor under his bare feet and the jab of pain with which his injured shoulder protested against the movement.

Ignoring any residual light-headedness and fatigue that had followed in the aftermath of the poison-induced illness, he quietly padded over to McKay.

"Hey, buddy." He whispered softly, "Easy now, you're only going to hurt yourself more…"

But McKay, stubborn even when delirious, would have none of it.

Which left him with only one option short of physically restraining the scientist.

"McKay! Lie still, now!" John barked in his most commanding tone, the one he reserved exclusively for the most dire emergencies, the only one that had never failed to get McKay's attention.

And McKay stilled.

To John's surprise, glazed blue eyes even opened and tried to focus on him.

Like McKay was trying his very best to pay attention to his team leader, ready to solve whichever problem had presented itself this time.

John felt a surge of pride, mixed with sorrow.

"It's okay now, McKay, go back to sleep…" He said quietly, gently patting McKay's shoulder, feeling the fever induced heat through the thin scrubs.

The blue eyes closed obediently, but McKay's forehead was still creased with worry lines. Or rather pain wrinkles…

"Hey!" John shouted at a passing nurse. "Can't you give him something for the pain?"

Suddenly, Carson appeared behind him, and John suddenly realised all was quiet around Ford's bed.

"Is Ford all right?" John asked with more than a little trepidation.

"Aye. He's had a short febrile seizure, but it seems his fever's now finally broken, so he'll be able to get some real sleep." The doctor commented absent-mindedly while injecting something into McKay's IV. "Don't worry, major, he'll be up and about in a few days…" Beckett frowned as he critically appraised the pale scientist. "Which is more than I can say about Rodney, I'm afraid…"

John frowned, distinctly remembering his earlier conversation with Beckett, when the doctor had promised he'd get Rodney back on his feet.

"Oh, we'll get him back on his _feet_ all right." The Scottish brogue sounded amused, and John realized he'd vocalized the thought.

"It'll just take a wee bit longer for his _hands_ to heal, and I foresee quite some revolts in the near future…"

John grinned, understanding the physician's point. As bad as Rodney could nag over the most trivial injuries, he was even better at downplaying major ones, infallibly demanding to be released from the infirmary as soon as he could stay awake for more than 10 minutes at a time.

Beckett, off course, could be equally stubborn, and the not-so-quiet war of wills between both friends always proved to be highly entertaining. Innocent bystanders would be recruited, either to smuggle in laptops or Jell-O, or to intercept said goods…

McKay sighed softly, dropping back in to a pain-free slumber. As his cramped muscles relaxed, his heavily bandaged right forearm slipped from its precarious resting place on his chest. Beckett gently caught the limb before it could bump into the bed's railing and carefully eased it onto a pillow.

"You'd better get some rest too, major..." The physician suggestively raised his eyebrows.

"I will, doc, but can I just sit here for 5 more minutes?" John knew his puppy dog look was irresistible, and wasn't afraid to use it.

Beckett nodded and left without making the slightest fuss. Probably saving his powers of persuasion for when McKay had properly woken up.

John's silent mirth evaporated when his eyes fell again on the crisp white bandages effectively immobilising McKay's hands.

It felt wrong for those hands to look so still, to restrict those nimble fingers that could coax life out of long dead devices.

Or pick nasty medieval locks.

Or create a pressure bandage to keep target-prone air force majors from bleeding out.

Or hold on to a rope against a strong current, getting a firm grip on two of his team member's lives and pulling them in.

Or shoot a gun, despite fatigue and pain and nervousness, with a surprisingly good aim as steady as on the Atlantis shooting range when the lives of his team mates were on the line…

John knew McKay hated the gun.

Hated the destruction it represented.

As a scientist, McKay loved to create. Assembling Ancient doodads, fixing Atlantian control panels, heck, even building paper aeroplanes for his silly competitions with Zelenka.

Although McKay was ultimately a scientist, he was also fast becoming a soldier. And therein laid both triumph and tragedy.

McKay was supposed to play the geeky genius, cooped up safely in a lab outthinking the entire galaxy, while military personnel kept him and his priceless brain safe.

But something had compelled John to ask him on his team, despite any objections the others had thrown at the proposition, despite his own inner voice telling him he couldn't possibly turn the self-important out-of-shape physicist into a valuable team member.

His instinct had always been right, including that time. McKay had turned out to be more resilient than he could have hoped for, proving to be as adept in acquiring military skills as he was in mathematical equations.

They had warned him McKay wouldn't be able to adapt.

He was worried the man had adapted too well, pushing aside his personal issues for the greater cause of the expedition.

John had first seen it when McKay had walked into the energy creature. A raw courage, shining briefly through arrogance and fear and panic. Usually extremely well hidden, and seen only by a select few, but whenever John caught a glimpse of it, he felt humbled by its intensity.

It was a funny contradiction, that, while most of the time everything about Rodney McKay screamed of self-centredness and arrogance (loud enough to be classified as a health risk), it was in a rare moment of silence that you could catch a glimpse of the truest altruism.

When for a few seconds, McKay erased himself completely from the equation in a single-minded focus on the solution.

Putting himself at risk to save others.

And, goddamnit, that wasn't his job!

It was John's. John's and that of every other soldier whose innocence was long lost, drowned by the cruelties of war.

John felt like shouting at the world, hell, scream at both galaxies he knew, that it wasn't fair that McKay had to put a greater cause above his personal beliefs, that he shouldn't be forced to destroy when he loved creating so much…

But he didn't utter a single word.

Life was never be fair.

He sighed sadly as he took in McKay's pale face, now fully relaxed in his drug-induced sleep. Looking strangely, endearingly, innocent in the absence of worldly sorrows.

His eyes trailed again to the thick bandages effectively hiding McKay's hands. White. The colour of virginity. Of innocence.

But although he couldn't see the mangled hands past the bandages, or the troubled dreams behind the relaxed face, John was all too aware of the pain behind, physical and even more so emotional.

Innocence was now no more than merely an illusion.

He had asked Rodney on his team.

He had killed the innocence...

"He didn't kill the mother."

The soft voice took John by surprise and he whirled around, meeting the steady gaze of a pair of dark brown eyes.

"Ford?" John limped over to his second in command, pleased to notice the young man's lucid look, despite the strange rambling.

"Sir." Ford gave him a furtive smile before settling his gaze back on McKay.

"He didn't kill the kitten's mother…" The lieutenant repeated, making no more sense to John than the first time, but he kept quiet, correctly assuming further explanation would be forthcoming.

"When we had gotten out of the water, we were cornered by some wolf-tiger. From McKay's comment, I think he figured it was the mother of the kitten which had mistaken his shin for a chewing bone. She looked absolutely murderous, sir, and I have no doubt she wouldn't have hesitated to kill either of us… But McKay told me not to shoot. So I took Teyla and ran, with McKay close by, covering us. In the end, he was forced to shoot the wolf-tiger mother anyway, but when I asked if it had been a kill, he answered 'not really'. Also, I suspect he didn't aim to kill most of the other wolf-tigers that were on our tail, only when things became desperate at the gate… But he didn't kill the kitten's mother, of that I'm sure…"

"Aye." Beckett's voice made both men jump. "He's got some fearsome bark, but he'll never be fond of biting…"

The physician's eyes were bright, the shadows within fading, a spark of light shining clearly through the dissipating storm.

Ford smiled fondly at Beckett's unneeded fussing when the doctor replaced the pink-tinged bandage around McKay's head, before turning to John again.

"I understand now, sir, why you picked him for the team. And I'm so sorry I didn't see it earlier. I guess I was quite the fool, huh?"

"Well, we can't all be geniuses, now can we?" Even barely audible, the croaked whisper exuded smugness.

John fought valiantly to keep the huge grin of his face as he watched dazed blue eyes blink tiredly. He noticed Beckett didn't even try such a feat, but then again, the doctor was safely outside McKay's direct line of sight.

Rather than irritating Ford, like it would have done in the past, the comment just widened the lieutenant's genuine smile. "No, we can't. And we certainly need the few geniuses we have to save our ass… ehm ... skins. It's good to have you back, McKay."

The Canadian seemed mildly surprised, and it took him some time to finally, awkwardly, acknowledge the unexpected praise, "Huh…, yes, well…, it feels good to be back…"

And within the blink of a pair of sleepy eyes, he was out like a light again.

John finally let the grin break through on his face.

Seems like this day wasn't that bad after all.


	7. Chapter 7

_AN: Final chapter of this story, at last... Thank you all very much for reading and reviewing!_

**-epilogue-**

Despite having a healthy aversion to the infirmary, Aiden found him rather enjoying himself during his enforced stay. Beckett had wanted to keep him for another 24 hours of observation, pointedly reminding Aiden that he wouldn't appreciate having a second seizure while ambling around Atlantis.

A point well taken.

Besides, it kept him in the near vicinity of his recovering team members, and Aiden was amazed how much comfort he drew from that.

Even McKay's constant whining didn't irritate him that much anymore. In fact, he now started to appreciate the razor-sharp wit… as long as it was aimed at any else but himself.

As doctor Beckett had keenly anticipated, it hadn't taken long for McKay to bounce back to his usual overbearing self.

In fact, the first time the physicist had really woken up, yesterday evening, his first words aimed at the Scottish doctor had been indicative.

"When can I break free of the clutches of your voodoo-worshipping cult, oh great Houngan?"

Beckett had blinked several times, obviously not expecting their little game of tug-of-war to start this early on.

"Now, just wait a wee moment, there, Rodney." Beckett had crossed his arms defiantly. "You'll be staying my guest for quite some time more, and don't you even think of pulling another Houdini on me or I'll show you some really primitive medicine involving lots of needles…"

McKay had yawned, clearly not impressed, and had promptly fallen back asleep.

Leaving Aiden to get bored as his three room mates happily dreamed the hours away.

Major Sheppard would wake up from time to time and steal a glance at each member of his team to re-ensure himself before giving in to slumber again.

Teyla had only been awake once, and only just long enough to given him a furtive smile.

Beckett was still at a loss as to why the arrow's toxin had affected her somewhat differently than Sheppard, due to female hormones or Athosian genetic make-up being his favoured explanations. Fact was that she seemed to need far more time sleeping it off than the major had, even if she didn't get half the amount in her blood stream.

Beckett had seemed very pleased with her progress, and so Aiden figured she had deserved a nice long rest.

Nevertheless, he preferred his team mates fully conscious.

But now, with McKay once again awake, trying to drive Beckett insane so the physician would get fed up and release him from the infirmary, things had gotten interesting again.

"Aw, come on, Carson, I'm fine. I'm not even seeing double anymore and… Ouch!"

McKay moaned softly as he gently lowered his hands, which had started their habitual gesturing as the scientist got exited, back to rest lightly atop the blanket.

"You're nae fine, Rodney! And I did I nae tell you to keep those hands still before you're going to bust the stitches again?" Beckett groused, nearly at his wits end.

The poor doctor seemed torn between sedating the convalescing, and therefore increasingly irritated, scientist into next week and acquiescing his request to be discharged. Both options would be nefarious for the Canadian's health, but would save his infirmary staff from sky-rocketing blood pressures, apoplexies and manic depressions.

McKay pouted.

Aiden had thought the major ought to be immensely proud to see his pupil excelling in the infamous Sheppard puppy dog look.

The combination with a clenched jaw, indicative of the residual pain in his hands, and creased forehead, courtesy of a wonderful post-concussion head-ache, reminded Aiden uncomfortably of a kicked puppy.

It did Beckett in as well.

The Scot turned to a proven effective compromise.

"You're nae leaving the infirmary, " He said sternly, but added with a defeated sigh "but I'll have someone bring your laptop over…"

Glancing at McKay's heavily bandaged underarms, he added: "I'll also ask for someone to volunteer for typing duty…"

Predictably, dr. Z was the first to assist his boss, looking thoroughly pleased to see his friend recovering so quickly. The usual banter had ensued, and ideas were tossed around with so much force they hit Aiden into a sleepy half-stupor.

The Czech (and Aiden's nap) lasted nearly an hour.

Sure, Zelenka had managed to work alongside McKay for hours on end several times, but at those time the Canadian had had full use of his hands, which had prompted him to take over whenever he thought something was progressing too slowly to his liking.

But right now, when Zelenka couldn't keep up with the lightning speed of McKay's mind, typing too slow to get the equations down as they flowed out of McKay's mouth, the Canadian couldn't grab the laptop.

Not that he didn't try.

Aiden flinched every time he saw the scientist cringe when his hands painfully informed him that reaching out wasn't such a good idea after all.

Hence, McKay was forced to repeat some parts, and cuss violently as it seriously interrupted his stream of thought.

Suddenly, Zelenka tapped his ear piece. "Zelenka here, go ahead."

He frowned as he listened intently, finally signing off with a worried: "Don't do anything, wait for me, I'll be right there!"

Mumbling an apology about urgent matters to his highly annoyed boss, he hurried out of the infirmary as if the devil was on his tail.

McKay sputtered something about the Czech going off to build paper airplanes, now he'd had a good look at some of McKay's schemes which were saved on his laptop.

Doctor Kusanagi was the next in line. The gentle Japanese woman had an angel's patience, enduring the cussing for far longer without showing even the slightest shred of impatience.

But eventually, Zelenka requested her presence at the lab, and McKay was once again left alone, with a laptop, bound hands and an infirmary full of evil shamans and witches out to hit him with tranquilizer darts.

A situation he was very vocal about.

It didn't disturb Teyla, who still hadn't done little more than playing sleeping beauty.

Sheppard seemed to have that part down to an art form as well, but in his case, Aiden suspected it wasn't entirely because of lingering fatigue any more, but rather to curl up with his face towards the wall, safely out of sight so he could grin at McKay's annoyed but very inventive ranting without evoking the man's wrath.

Nurse Mae eventually managed to silence the physicist with the threat of no more second helpings of Jell-O, and the physicist proceeded into sulking, mercifully quiet, mode.

Until…

"Yes!"

Totally out of the blue, McKay sat up with a triumphant outcry, winced and fell heavily back into the pillows.

His sudden movement startled two nearby nurses, but as soon as they saw that the scientist was still fine, they lost interest, and pointedly turned away when he asked them again to type something for him.

He even said please.

Aiden narrowed his eyes.

The excitement in the physicist's voice, his frantic fidgeting with a laptop he couldn't quite use, the clenched jaw as he bit through the pain when he attempted to type anyway, they all told Aiden this was no longer McKay whining for attention.

This was important.

Important enough to stop bitching and focus single-mindedly on the laptop.

Important enough to ignore the pain even when blood started to stain thick white bandages.

Aiden later never knew what possessed him (although Sheppard would put his cards on a guilty consciousness), especially given his hands-on experience of watching the others, but he suddenly got up and walked over to the fumbling scientist.

"Doctor McKay." Aiden spoke up softly.

"Hmm." McKay didn't look up, too engrossed in whatever he was doing, but Aiden knew by the slight tilt of his head that the Canadian was paying attention to him as well.

"Do you want me to type?" Aiden volunteered.

The clumsy tapping on the keyboard halted immediately as McKay looked up sharply.

For the longest time, the physicist just blinked at Aiden, the suspicion of being mocked at slowly fading from blue eyes as Aiden gazed back sincerely.

"What?" McKay said slowly.

What he really meant to say was: _'Why would you even suggest that?'._

"Let me type, doc." Aiden repeated patiently as he sat down on the bed, gently pulling the laptop from unresisting fingers. "We're a team, right, so we've got to help each other out…"

Which in turn translated into: _'Thank you for saving me, I owe you big time, and this is me starting to redeem myself.'_

"Fine." McKay answered off-handedly.

But his eyes spoke of his gratitude. _'Any time, don't worry about it, I know I can be somewhat trying, but this is really important.'_

Then, things became very vocal again, involving lots of McKay cursing at Aiden's horrible typing skills, and Aiden's heated replies concerning scientific mumblings incomprehensible to regular mortals.

After all, Aiden hadn't exactly mastered the greek alphabet or complex mathematical formula the way Zelenka or dr. Kusanagi had.

And McKay seemed perfectly able of having a genius train of thought and ranting at Ford's ineptness at the same time.

But eventually, in an exercise of team building that would make Sheppard proud, they managed to transform McKay's idea into an impressive set of notes and equations Aiden hadn't understood a single line of.

McKay sagged into his pillow, looking very pale, but his eyes were still glittering with the fire of discovery as he gave Aiden a crooked grin.

And Aiden grinned back.

Even if he hadn't understand the concepts or formulae, it had been exciting, to be surfing on the giant, rapidly changing, waves that were McKay's genius.

Sensing McKay's waters had calmed significantly, Beckett made a beeline for his bed.

Aiden made room for the doctor and returned to his own bed, vaguely remembering McKay rudely dismissing the physician when he had come to check in on them a while ago.

Settling himself comfortably, flexing aching fingers, he listened to the Scottish brogue lecturing McKay about reopening his wounds again, but there was no real annoyance behind it, only concern.

Just like there was no malice behind McKay's derogatory sheep-related comment.

Thoroughly exhausted, McKay didn't even stay awake long enough to see Zelenka barrel into the infirmary, no doubt alerted by Beckett, and grab the laptop.

Aiden would describe the little Czech's facial expressions in full detail to his now sleeping team member later, because the incredulous wide-eyed look, the slack jaw and the extremely slow blinking were priceless. Then, dr. Z became hyper, hands flailing in all directions, muttering incessantly in Czech in between giving orders over his radio.

In the door opening, Zelenka turned around, giving his softly snoring boss a look of pure admiration.

Aiden barely caught the muttered 'brilliant, absolutely brilliant', and it gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling.

This team stuff wasn't that bad after all.

McKay wasn't that bad.

_E pluribus unum. _

From many, one.

Different team members with different strengths together making one great team.

Compensating for each other's weaknesses whenever needed.

Aiden smiled as he nodded off.

Providing the lifeline to save one another...


End file.
